Chapter IV
SEVEN NEW ROAD STOURBRIDGE
In 1926 we moved to Stourbridge. My father, Ben Green, had been
appointed Sales Manager at the Gas Showrooms in New Road, virtually in the
centre of the town. Next to the showrooms was a large Victorian house with a
porticoed front door which at some time previously had been divided into
three. The portico was later removed as it partially obstructed the
pavement. This act of vandalism ruined the appearance of the house, but in
the name of 'progress'....!
The whole block was owned by the Gas Department of the Borough Council,
and has now disappeared.
The section nearest to the showrooms was a ladies' outfitters operated by
the Bamfield family, the 'chief executive' being the daughter Dorothy in
whose name the business was run. We had the middle 'slice' and the third was
occupied by Charlie and Doris Cookson and their family (Joe, Geoff, Margaret
and Brian), and later by the Lawsons (Harry, Mummie, Winnie and Grannie,
plus some rabbits.
NEIGHBOURS.
The Cookson children, at the time of our arrival on the scene, were
Joseph and Geoffrey, both a little younger than me, and so providing useful
playmates young enough to be ordered about. Charlie Cookson, also worked at
the Gas Works as a clerk. Charlie's brother Edmund, who lived in Studley
Gate, was Ben's assistant at the showroom.
A current music-hall song, 'Anybody seen me brother Charlie, with a
penny at the bottom of a can?' was applied to the Cookson family with
much mirth when Mother and they were out of range.
It was obviously a great advantage to my father to live two doors away
from his place of work. Working hours were 9.a.m.- 5.p.m. which meant that
he could get us to school if Mother was indisposed, and still be at work on
time. He arrived home at 5.15 sharp every night. These hours eventually
enabled him to supplement his income by taking on a part-time job as
Secretary of the local Laundry Company .
The local 'Gas Manager', Charles H. Webb, who lived in the very up-market
area of Ounty John Lane, Pedmore, was reputed to draw £1000 a year, and who
drove a large maroon Austin, UY 1026, was also Chairman of the 'Stourbridge
Model Laundry Ltd.' This was a useful arrangement.
The house was 'two down, two up, and another two on top of that' - in
other words a three storey building. At the back of the ground floor, at the
end of a long corridor, a lean-to kitchen had been built on.
At an inspection, before we moved in, I can remember teetering
dangerously on a wooden plank placed over the recently laid concrete floor.
Leading out of the kitchen was the lavatory (horrors!) which formed half of
what had been an outhouse before being joined to the house by the lean-to
kitchen. Never mind the hygiene.
Bridging the gap between house and outhouse had fortuitously provided us
with an inside toilet. Yet another step up the social ladder had been
achieved! The other half of this outhouse formed a coal-shed, fortunately
still only accessible from outside. Coal was delivered in astonishingly
large lumps which had to be 'bashed' with a hammer to reduce them to a
suitable size. This operation produced quantities of 'slack' which was
allowed to accumulate, being only used occasionally, and put 'behind the
fire' when we were all going out in the winter.
A door from the kitchen led outside to a small yard in which were two
large water butts fed from roof drainage and beyond this to a long narrow
garden. At the bottom of the garden, for some years before it was
'developed' was a piece of waste ground which could be accessed for jungle
games.
At some time later Father built a wooden shed, extending the line of
outbuildings. Building this shed carried with it the added advantage that it
'saved us from being overlooked by the neighbours'. This was a major phobia
with many people in those days. The fact that the neighbours could overlook
us should they wish by the simple expedient of going upstairs seemed to be
curiously irrelevant.
The shed gradually became the home of many of God's smaller creatures and
was regarded with horror. In my later years at New Road, having acquired a
bicycle, I cleared it all out and put in a wooden floor.
When we moved in to 7, New Road, the original kitchen range (coal) was
still in what was to become our living room, but its humble origins were
preserved in that it was always referred-to as 'the kitchen' - the lean-to,
with its sink, gas cooker and washing machine (a gas boiler with an
agitator) was 'the scullery'.
'TAY' and the FIRE.
It became my duty on reaching a certain age, to get up first on most
mornings. I made tea for the four of us, (no sugar for Mother!) and then
laid the fire in in the range. There always seemed to be plenty of firewood
available, probably originating with crates in which gas appliances were
delivered to the showrooms. This was periodically chopped up into convenient
pieces and left in the coal house. Father's instructions when laying the
firewood were, "When you're laying the wood, always make the sign of the
cross with every piece." This was good advice, since it allowed air to
circulate and encourage combustion. It was nevertheless rather strange,
coming from one who would have found making the 'sign of the cross' in any
other way quite repugnant and smacking of popery! After many years, the coal
fired kitchen range gave way to a gas fire with a modern surround. The room
was still, however, 'the kitchen', but there was no longer anywhere to burn
the rubbish. This made it difficult to comply conscientiously with the
admonition which adorned each of the corporation 'Dust-Carts' - "Burn
your refuse and save the rates: F. Woodward, Borough Surveyor." The
problem was solved by our having a fire in an old dustbin at the bottom of
the garden, mostly on Saturday afternoons when Father could supervise. This
stimulated my interest in combustion which was useful in one of my future
careers and which might be in my ultimate destiny.
As for the morning tea; each year, just before Christmas, one or more
quite large crates of tea would arrive at the house and be hoisted
laboriously to the 'Top Room'. Later we found out that these were 'presents'
from various 'travellers' - itinerant salesmen of gas appliances. Some of
these, having been accustomed to distribute various malt liquors at
Christmas to their customers, had solved the problem what to give Father who
was an uncompromising 'tea-totaller. Whether or not it was sheer naïvety
or deliberate blind eye on his part we shall never know, but this sort of
'sleaze' seemed to me at the time to be at variance with the much vaunted
non-conformist conscience. Consequently, tea rarely appeared on our grocery
order, someone being dispatched to the 'Top Room' when a refill of the caddy
became necessary. This caddy was a fascinating piece of tin Chinoiserie
which was mounted at a convenient height on the wall adjoining the
fire-place. The bottom consisted of a hopper and a dispenser operated by a
handle. Each turn of the handle deposited one teaspoonful of tea into a
tea-pot pot held underneath. It would also deposit a similar quantity on to
the floor if the pot was not underneath. Such a lapse was infrequent as it
tended to cause some domestic tension which it paid to avoid.
THE FRONT ROOM.
The downstairs front was 'the front room'. The traditional word 'parlour'
had then become old fashioned, 'drawing room' was too 'up-market' and
'sitting room' seemed inappropriate since relaxation it it was infrequent.
This room was as far as visitors were allowed to penetrate unless they
were 'family'. In it was a three-piece suite, father's roll-top desk, a
large book case and a gas fire with a brass fender. All was overlooked by a
picture of Grandfather Green.
THE CLOCK.
At Yardley Street, we had had what is now known as a 'Station Clock' -
one with a round face with Roman numerals, with an extension below in which
the pendulum could be seen swinging. It was decided that this sort of clock
was not in keeping with our modern accommodation, so in 1926 a visit was
organised to 'Alfred Morris, Jeweller, Lye.' Morris had a small clock, watch
and jewellery shop near Lye Cross. My father had done army training with his
son, Edward (Teddy) Morris and they had seen service together. 'Teddy' later
became Bishop of Monmouth and Archbishop of Wales. We were reminded of this
from time to time. ('My father knew Lloyd-George' - well, almost!)
At Morris's my parents selected a clock which still stands and ticks on
my wall in 2001. In the early days, Father was the only one allowed to
touch, wind or adjust the clock. On days when this became necessary one of
us would be sent out into the garden from where we could see the 'Library
Clock'. This was in a small clock-tower above the Public Library. We had
instructions to report back immediately with the 'right time' when Father
would solemnly set our clock, sometimes muttering warnings about what would
happen if we tried to imitate his finesse.
(Editors note - the clock still keeps good time in 2006!)
UPSTAIRS.
The remainder of the house at New Road included two bedrooms on the first
floor, parents having the front. The back bedroom I eventually shared with
my brother Paul when he was old enough and hygienic enough to be ejected
from his cot.
SIBLING SURPRISE!
On 29th. June 1928, two years after we moved in, I was sent to play, and
later told that Dr. Darby had brought Paul in his black bag. Much later I
found out that this statement was a little economical with the truth. 'Other
people' believed that babies were brought by the stork, but of course that
was ridiculous and WE didn't believe that because there weren't any storks
in this country.
'OUT THE BACK.'
The back premises, comprising the lean-to 'scullery' and the lavatory
carry mixed memories. The lavatory, having been originally an outside privy,
was rather Spartan. Its brick walls were not plastered and seemed to
encourage the presence of long-legged spiders which were a cause of terror.
There was a high-level cast iron flushing cistern operated by a chain, on
the end of which was a porcelain handle, shaped rather like a milk churn,
and on which was printed the simple instruction, 'PULL'. As it is impossible
to fulfil any useful function by pushing a handle hanging on the end of a
chain, I sometimes wondered why this instruction was considered necessary.
There was a small hopper window which opened on to Bamfield's garden, next
door. By standing on the seat one could spy on 'the neighbours and as the
door was bolted, one could commit this contemptible sin without discovery.
When my brother Paul was able to use this 'loo' without continuous
supervision, we went through a period when he could 'manage' satisfactorily
except for pulling up his trousers and braces 'after the event.' He would
therefore hobble through to the living room with his trousers down,
demanding attention. This behaviour I found extremely disgusting and I
recall castigating him with withering scorn for 'coming into the best dining
room with his trousers down'. Mother pointed out that we did not have a
second-best dining room, so where was he to go? - thus showing herself
not devoid of a sense of the ridiculous. Fortunately Paul learnt, in time,
to cope, for which achievement I felt I was due some credit.
This privy was hardly ever referred to by name. Sometimes it was 'the
lavatory', but usually the question was "Have you been 'in there'?"
PUDDING TIME.
The lean-to under normal circumstances called for no comment. About a
month before Christmas, however, came the time to make the puddings. After
several nights' work spent mincing fruit and suet, grating nutmeg and adding
the mysterious spices of the east which only appeared at this season, the
day arrived when the puddings must be boiled. Several of the largest
saucepans were put on the stove, and kept boiling for what seemed to be most
of the day and night. Vast quantities of steam were generated. The outside
door had to be kept open to let out the steam. As the weather was usually
bitterly cold, more cold air came in than steam went out, resulting in the
condensation of most of the steam on the underside of the corrugated
asbestos roof. The condensate dripped into the room. It was not a nice place
to be, and the occasional passage to the loo, through the quasi-Icelandic
geyser scene became something of a trial, being also accompanied by cries of
'keep the middle door shut - we don't want all that steam in the house!' A
reasonable request!
SCIENCE REARS ITS UGLY HEAD!
Much later, when I was becoming intrigued by 'science' I decided to
recover some paraffin which had become contaminated, by distilling it on a
table in the lean-to. I had a Liebig condenser and some laboratory
glassware. It was a pity that the whole lot soon went up in flames, burning
also the sky-light and blind in the asbestos (fortunately!) roof. Rather to
my surprise, my Father did not apply the draconian punishment which might
have been expected. He did, however, make a claim on his insurance which
included the cost of my chemical apparatus. He won the claim and pocketed
the lot! Somehow justice seemed to have been done. On the other hand, some
time before this catastrophe, he had himself demonstrated to me how coal gas
could be made by heating some coal slack in an old tea-pot over a Bunsen
burner, so perhaps it was all his fault.
In this lean-to, adjacent to the sink, was a gas 'pet-cock' to which a
flexible tube could be attached to feed the gas iron which Mother used after
the weekly wash. These irons were lethal weapons, all products of combustion
rising directly into the face of the user. The iron certainly was the cause
of the headaches of which Mother used to complain on certain days of the
week, thereby rendering her unwilling to give us the attention we thought we
deserved.
I discovered that fun could be had by filling a bowl with soapy water and
using the pet-cock and rubber tube, blowing gas into this. Large gas filled
bubbles were made, and a spectacular effect could be obtained by throwing a
lighted match at the bubbles. Of such cometh true scientific research!
Such research had to be done, needless to say, when parents and young
brother were otherwise engaged and at a distance. Parents, not only because
of fear of being prevented, but because they were inclined, at least, to
ask, "What are you doing?" - a very difficult question to answer. One was
also aware that one's activities if carried out in the presence of young
brother, would be closely monitored and reported back to H.Q., motivated by
curiosity, jealousy or sheer revenge.
CLOTHES CLOSETS.
In each of the first-floor bedrooms was what we called a 'clothes closet,
This was, in fact a cupboard over or under the stairs. It had a room-sized
door and could be entered, and owing to the tapering of the staircase, the
cupboard had hidden depths. This proved useful to me in a curious way.
My brother Paul was five years younger than me, so that when he began to
verge on the uncontrollable, I found a remedy. By threatening to go into the
clothes closet and make noises like the 'Creature from the Swamp' I could
quickly regain control of the situation. Furthermore the process left no
bruises! This probably set up countless complexes for him in the years to
come, but as psychology was then in its infancy I cannot bring myself to
feel particularly guilty about it.
TOP ROOMS.
On the top landing were two more 'bedrooms', one of which had been
converted to be a bathroom. For a bathroom it was vast. Not quite in the
middle was a cast iron enamelled bath which stood on saurian feet. it was
served by a fearsome gas 'geyser' which in these days would be regarded as
an extreme fire and health hazard. To operate it you had to set a match to a
pilot light. The action of 'swinging in' this light would also turn on the
main tap, allowing gas to enter the large circular burner at the base of the
geyser. Any slight delay in 'swinging the pilot' would allow a quantity of
unburnt gas to accumulate in the combustion chamber. This would then
explode, blowing out the pilot light. Then you were back to square one with
gas all over the place.
There was no plumbed-in wash-hand basin, so there was provided a bowl on
a metal stand which had to be filled from the geyser.
This bathroom was on the top floor, and the only heat in the house, most
of the time, was the kitchen range, two floors below. This heat could be
supplemented by gas fires in individual rooms, so there was a gas fire in
the bathroom, which, in the depths of winter we were allowed to have on for
'bath night'. Father also had it on whilst shaving in the morning. Most of
our daily ablutions, however, were carried out in the sink of the lean-to
kitchen.
Opposite the bathroom on the top landing was the 'Top Room', so filled
with mysterious junk that one had to tread carefully. An idle hour could be
spent in this room looking through photograph albums from the war years and
at outmoded gadgets which today would sell for a fortune at Sotheby's. There
was an open fireplace, which, being at the top of the house, had a very
short chimney up which the sky could be seen if you sat on the floor and
looked up.
Both of these top rooms, being comparatively higher than adjoining
property, gave a good view over the town as well as slight feelings of
vertigo as you looked down.
TELEPHONE.
At New Road we had, for the first time, a telephone. True this was but an
extension from the 'Gas Office' and intended to provide my father with the
means of alerting emergency services should something blow up, but we were
allowed to use it for special reasons only. The apparatus consisted of a
teak box on the wall, from the side of which box protruded a handle which
had to be wound to call the operator. On the other side was a hook on which
hung the 'receiver' and from the front protruded the microphone. Only much
later did we get a 'dial'. This box was set on the wall at a height
recommended by the G.P.O. as being suitable for the 'average adult' The
result was that anyone using the apparatus had either to buckle at the knees
or stand on a box. Anyway, we did have a 'phone'. The number was Stourbridge
57206.
GAS - AND ELECTRICITY.
At this time there was still great rivalry between Gas and Electricity as
suppliers of domestic energy. In fact, most gasworks would not themselves
use electricity, power being supplied by steam boilers and steam engines. I
have even encountered steam driven lifts. At Edinburgh in the 50's the lift
in the main offices of the Gas Board whilst being then electrically
propelled, had retained gas lighting as a curiosity - work that one out!
Electricity, except that obtained from batteries, was regarded as
anathema by all loyal Gas employees. Some genius even came up with a gas
radio worked from a bank of heated thermocouples, and also a 'cooling fan'
driven by a gas engine. Both of these were on show in the Father's showroom.
In the first case enough heat was given off to keep a greenhouse going in
winter; in fact the instructions made that recommendation! In the second,
the engine driving the fan gave off more heat than the fan was capable of
removing, so efficiency was not the watch-word.
So, as we lived in a Gas Department house, there could, of course, be no
mains electricity. Lighting as well as heating - apart from the coal fire -
was by gas. As most of the lights were quite close to the ceiling, and the
gas was piped thither in 'compo' - lead composition - pipes, it is
surprising that we all escaped premature cremation, asphyxiation or both.
In my later years at New Road when I was studying electricity at Grammar
School, I found this lack of power a serious handicap. I could not even have
an electric soldering iron. I was, however, given a gas soldering iron which
was supplied from the pet-cock in the scullery.
Certain members of my later family may find it impossible to imagine how
life could go on without this essential article, but somehow we struggled
through with the gas heated one. It is interesting to note that they have
since come back on the market, using propane bottles.
My mother should have found the lack of power a serious handicap when
trying to cope with household cleaning without a vacuum cleaner, but what
you've never had you don't miss, so her fate was probably bearable, and by
this time we could run to a succession of daily house-maid, among them a
Nellie Hurley ('They called her Hurley so she wouldn't be late!') and Nora
Brookes.
In most of our rooms, hall and landings we had a single gas mantle burner
each with its glass or 'vitreosil' shade. In the two ground floor-rooms
there were triple 'bijou' mantles which gave a reasonable light, but were
considered to be the 'bees' knees' by Father. In spite of his loyal protests
that gas lighting was much better for your eyes than the 'electric' I was
sceptical, having experienced much better lighting at school.
I did earn my mother's gratitude by fixing up a battery powered light at
the head of the cellar steps. Here there were shelves used to supplement
larder accommodation. The light reduced the risk of falling down the cellar
steps when raiding the larder.
From this cellar head the brick steps led down to a brick-arched cellar
in which was the gas meter, a single gas light which had to be lit with a
match when you reached it, and uncounted horrors with eight or more legs.
'Going down the cellar' was only contemplated in cases of dire emergency or
over-riding need - until war broke out, when it was cleaned out and
designated an air raid shelter.
THE WIRELESS.
Our entertainment was also limited by this lack of electricity. Thanks to
Wilf Hall, one of the works fitters who was a bit of an electrician, we had
'The Wireless' soon after we moved in. Wilf had made us a 'one valve' set,
mounted on a board, with sockets for headphones on either side of the
fireplace. This meant that only two could 'listen in' at any one time, but
as that listening was almost entirely confined to 'the news' I cannot
remember being consumed with jealousy. In any case the headbands tended to
pull out my hair.
The aerial wire extended from the eaves of the house where it was
supported by white porcelain 'egg insulators' to the top of a pole erected
at the end of the garden. Later, Wilf made us a 'Two-valve' set with knobs
on an ebonite panel. This meant that we could have a 'loudspeaker'. This
still stopped you talking whilst 'they' listened to the news!
Periodically the 'accumulator' - a lead-acid battery in a glass jar - had
to be charged, and this meant a bus trip to Wilf's house in Pedmore Road,
Lye. Some bus conductors were doubtful about allowing dangerous apparatus
aboard, in which case we had to walk.
In Wilf's shed he had apparatus with coloured lights to which the
accumulator was attached, after which he gave you the 'spare', charged and
ready to take home - on the bus if you were lucky.
Two other batteries were needed, a flat 'grid bias', supplying 'nine
volts negative', and a 'High Tension' battery, which was huge and heavy,
being made up of about a hundred 1.5-volt cells sealed together in a block
of pitch, thus being able to supply a nominal 150 volts to the anodes of the
valves. Tappings were provided at 60, 90, 100 and 120 volts for the
requirements of your particular 'set'.
Various makes were available. They were all much of a muchness, but
Father, having fallen for some slick advertising, decided that we should
have 'Pertrix' H.T. Batteries because somebody had told him they were the
best. Discarded ones still retained sufficient voltage to produce
interesting blue sparks when shorted with bits of copper wire and sufficient
current to enable salt water to be electrolysed. The chlorine produced in
the latter process had an interesting smell which was not appreciated by
those of the family whose awareness of the arts of Chemistry was limited. It
was on one of these 'Wireless Sets' that we heard in 1939 the fateful
announcement of the outbreak of war.
THE FRONT ROOM OBSERVATORY.
Our ground floor 'front room' had the advantage that being virtually on
the pavement and being provided with net curtains, it was a useful vantage
point for the observation of passers-by.
In those days there was little motor-traffic apart from the buses which
passed regularly, and on Sunday evenings there was even less. Pedestrian
traffic was, however, fairly heavy. On Sunday evenings there was the social
ritual of the 'Monkey Run'. Buses from all over the surrounding area brought
hundreds of young people into Stourbridge where they would walk up and down
the High Street under the benevolent eye of two 'bobbies' on duty outside
the Post Office and the Town Clock. Some of them would divert into New Road
or make the triangular circuit of High Street, Market Street, New Road. The
standard uniform for the men was a dark suit with a white scarf. They would
parade in twos or threes weighing up the local 'talent' and vice-versa. It
served the same function as the modem 'disco', was cheaper and somewhat
quieter. There was never any 'trouble'. In later years the cinemas opened on
Sunday nights. This, if anything, increased the number parading as there
were usually two 'houses' and selection of someone to 'snog in the pictures'
still needed time.
Directly opposite our house a certain Audrey Ainge opened what since
'Summer Wine', could be recognised as an 'Ivy's Caff'. It was scruffy, and
it was noted that some male patrons sometimes spent longer in there than was
needed for the consumption of 'tea and a sticky bun'.
I was told with some disgust that Audrey was 'no better than she should
be'. This rather puzzled me since my non-conformist upbringing had suggested
that it was a hard enough struggle to be as good as one should be, therefore
to have achieved this aim should have been commendable.
Audrey's 'Caff' attracted some interesting characters who could be
observed closely through our net curtains. To sit in the front window on a
Sunday evening was better than modern television!
Interesting figures who passed by from time to time were some of the
'characters' of the district. One of these went by the incredible soubriquet
of 'Harry, the Bird's in the Bough'. (If he ain't gone, he's there now!)
Harry was probably a victim of Parkinson's disease. He wore old boots, an
ex-army great-coat and a battered cap. His tongue stuck out like a cherry on
a snowman and he shuffled along with an involuntary big grin on his face.
Poor soul!
Another was 'Lijah' Marsh the lamplighter with his bowler hat and
toothless face, followed possibly by 'Wanderin' Kate' - a local vagrant.
There was also another old man who lived in Lyon Street - we never knew his
name ~ who with steps of no more than six inches at a time took what seemed
hours to pass. It is fit comment on the age that such unfortunates, who now
might be well cared-for, were then regarded as comic.
Occasionally Fanny Edwards, whom we had known as the milk woman at
Stambermill, would come by.
OLD POTTY.
Our milk was however delivered by a Mr. Potts who came daily except
Sundays, with a pony and trap on which were milk churns and measures.
Tradesmen did not, of course, come to the front door, so Potts had to
negotiate a pathway which was a common access to all three houses. The
children of Charlie and Doris Cookson, next door, were allowed to play with
us, being regarded as relatively non-contaminatory. We used to build
complicated structures with step ladders and planks on this common pathway.
Potts (Old Potty) had the uncanny knack of knowing exactly when the path was
completely obstructed and demanding freeway. It was always OUR fault, of
course!
VISITORS.
We had many callers at 7, New Road, but very few visitors. My Father was
very well known in various organisations in the district, mostly connected
with non-conformist churches. As the telephone was then in its infancy,
communication was either by letter or by a personal call. The latter were
frequent but callers did not often get past the 'vestibule' door. This was
due to curious attitudes. First it was an instinct inherited from past
generations of poverty that we did not want strangers to see the inferior
conditions in which we were forced to live. Secondly, we did not want
inferior strangers to contaminate our more sterile life-style. This was
probably the reason why I never thought of inviting school friends to our
house, or my receiving invitations to theirs.
Relationships with father's and mother's families were often 'strained'.
The full reasons for this I have never completely understood. At Christmas
in latter years after grandparents had died we had family parties with the
family of my mother's eldest sister Lily who had married John Williams and
who lived at Dudley. Their family consisted of Sydney and Margaret, older
than me, and John, slightly younger. It was cousin Syd who introduced me to
the attractions of science - he had a 'chemistry lab.' in their cellar
wherein he performed great wonders. Later Sydney got a job as an apprentice
teacher at King Edward's School and often lunched with us. He was the only
regular visitor to share our board.
Other visitors at other times were rare. Sleeping accommodation was
limited so no-one ever stayed the night. Once, before Paul was born, Uncle
Alan did come for a week-end, but that caused a great upheaval. I have a
vague memory of having to sleep with my mother, but having never heard,
then, of Oedipus, it was more of a nuisance than a scandal!
In the earliest days at New Road we were called upon occasionally by a
couple of Father's Aunts. One was Myra, and the other probably 'Lizzie', a
name which at that time appeared in the list of most families. It was these
aunts who bore to us the legend that the Green family came from the wilds of
Herefordshire. As within the previous hundred years, most of the inhabitants
of the area had 'come from' somewhere, this is not unlikely.
NELLIE.
A too-frequent visitor however was Nellie Brewer. Nellie was the
unmarried daughter of Tom Brewer who had been a meter collector for 'The
Gas'. He lived in Bowling Green Road, and could be seen with a Gladstone bag
walking round the district emptying the coins out of slot meters and
delivering them to the cashier at the Gasworks. Never did I hear of any of
these collectors being 'mugged' as they would certainly have been today.
Nellie plied for hire as a housekeeper to the 'gentry'. Unfortunately she
was not 'adaptable' and hardly ever stayed for more than six months in any
one post.
She would arrive and bore us stiff with the tale of the wonderful job she
had at last landed with marvellous people and that life was now spread
before her as a trail of glory. Within six months she would be back with a
tale of horrendous sufferings and unjust treatment, the grim details of
which would be poured out for our sympathy.
A week or two later the process would start to repeat itself. The wonder
was that she never seemed to run out of prospective employers.
I had no grudge against Nellie, but was always glad to see her go, since
whilst she was in the house I had to keep quiet and not interrupt.
Interruption was the only way of stemming the logorrhoea!
ADVENTURES.
During my early 'Grammar School' days, when we still lived at 'No.7' my
particular school friends were Bill Noke who had a dog, Frank Bealey, who
lived at Hagley, and later Kenneth Morris whose middle name was Oswald, so
was known as 'K.O.' In retaliation, he once suggested that had my father had
a middle name 'Ugbert', his initials would have been more interesting. We
remained good friends. Later, when war broke out, Ken joined the
Gloucestershire Hussars, and disappeared from my sight. Douglas Arthur, who
lived in Witton Street and with whom I used to knock around, had acquired a
bicycle fairly early and soon came to despise my pedestrian company.
I suppose that I shall never know the real reason for my being denied a
bike until I was about fourteen. It is true we lived in a town house and on
a road which in those days was considered busy; true that parents, as far as
I was aware had never ridden bicycles themselves; true that money was not
plentiful. However, I suspect that one reason at least was that
over-protectiveness with which we were treated. The road, as opposed to the
pavement, was 'dangerous', and having a bike meant that you were on the
dangerous road rather than on the safe pavement. So "we would be worried to
death until you got home". Emotional blackmail is an effective weapon
against those who are too young to recognise it as such. The threat of being
'knocked down' was always with us when out of doors, not so much the fear of
injury or death, but more of being punished for being knocked down.
The possession of a
bike also meant that it might provide me with the mobility to go to places
where I shouldn't, and my rescue therefrom might be difficult, being further
away.
I had always had a desire to see what was 'over the next hill', and was
only eleven when I acquired my first 'One-inch ordnance map' of the
district. We lived within a few miles of the Clent Hills and Kinver Edge,
popular resorts at Bank Holiday times, when there was a continuous queue of
buses to both. Originally trams ran to Kinver, having their own tram track
alongside the road from Wollaston to the 'Stewpony' when they took to the
fields for the rest of the way to Kinver. I only went on the tram once when
very small, but it was a memorable ride. It was a pity that they soon
disappeared and the omnivorous 'Midland Red' took over.
ROCK HOUSES.
Often we would, as a family, take a bus to Clent or Kinver, usually with
a picnic tea, and would explore. These places had the advantage of being
'high up' enabling us to get good views of the surrounding country which,
with which the map could be identified. Kinver was a ridge of red sandstone
with a scarp face reached from Potter's Cross bus stop. Into this sandstone
had been carved 'houses' called the 'Rock Houses' which I believe were still
inhabited in my early years. Certainly we had tea at one of them which was
fitted out as a café.
At the highest point of the Clent Hills was 'the four-stones', four
relatively small monoliths set upright in the ground. I never did discover
their origin but one was small enough to sit on whilst your photograph was
taken. We still have one or two 'snapshots' of somebody 'sitting on a
four-stone'. In the earliest days it was possible to have a donkey ride
round the lower slopes of Clent. These rather sad animals, owned by an old
woman - 'Black Mary' or something like that - left from just outside the pub
in and outside which on Bank Holidays, most of the Black Country seemed to
gather to drink stout and sing bawdy songs. We were hurried past both of
these horrors.
Just down the road from this pub was another, 'The Fountain' which
provided a terminus for the 319 service of buses (Saturdays and Bank
Holidays only). Aunt Lily parodied the revivalist hymn 'Drinking at the
fountain on the way to Heaven' by singing, 'Drinking at the fountain on the
way to Clent. I am not sure that my parents approved of this, but then, "you
couldn't take Lil too seriously".
ORIENTATION.
In younger days, almost everywhere we went as a family meant a bus from
the Stourbridge bus or railway station. Because of this, I had the early
impression that the world was something which radiated from there. The fact
that you could, if you wished, go from Clent to Kinver or from Dudley to
Birmingham without going through Stourbridge never occurred to me until I
learnt to read a map.
GONE WALK-ABOUT.
That stage having arrived, at school holiday tines two or three of us
would get together, usually with Bill's dog, and having studied the map
would set out to walk. We went to Bromsgrove, Wolverhampton, Albrighton,
Droitwich, all about ten miles or so from home, and get a bus back. There
was no such thing as 'gear' in those days, we went in our day clothes with a
packet of sandwiches in our pockets and twopence for a bottle of pop in
addition to the bus fare home. The object of the exercise was to avoid main
roads as much as possible, and much preparatory time was spent poring over
the map finding all the marked pathways. In this way we got to know the area
within a ten-mile radius pretty well.
One day I decided to walk to Worcester - twenty-two miles. The fact that
I could not persuade anyone to come with me is indicative of something!
Leaving home at 10.a.m. I managed to catch the 3.10.p.m. bus back, which is
not bad going, but the last mile into Worcester I still remember with some
discomfort!
'ANYWHERE TICKETS'.
About this time, when I was thirteen, the Midland Red produced 'Anywhere
Tickets' which cost five shillings for adults and half a crown if you were
under 14 - which I was. For this you could spend the whole day on the
Midland System, the boundaries of which stretched from Shrewsbury to
Broadway, and from Whitchurch, near Symond's Yat to Leicester. The company
did run 'limited stop' buses to exotic places like Grantham, Derby,
Gloucester and Cheltenham, but these were rated as W services on which the
Anywhere Ticket was not valid.
The Company produced a set of timetables, the main one being for the
Birmingahm Area and 'we' were in that. By sending a small postal order to
the Company's headquarters at Bearwoord, you could get a parcel of
timetables for other areas such as Worcester, Leicester, Shrewsbury etc. It
was a great thrill when this parcel arrived by post and the names such as
Uttoxeter, Oswestry, Tamworth and Wyre Piddle provided the anticipation of
the exotic now suggested by place names in Thailand and Florida.
The time tables would be studied in fine detail for days, the object
being to make connections as fine as possible, and so to cover as many miles
as possible for half-a-crown.
Trips which, with one of my pals, I managed to organise were:
All
this walking and 'bussing' had, by the time I acquired a 'bike', given me a
pretty good idea of the geography of the midlands, and given me the
incentive to explore places where the bus did not go or where it was too far
to walk. I took full advantage of this in later years. I still have the 'One
Inch' map which retains the marks caused by my falling off the bike into the
river at Neen Sollars, having discovered the hard way that a ford negotiable
by a four-wheeled vehicle was not necessarily suitable for a two-wheeled
one. Fords seem to have a lining of slippery algae - another lesson learnt!
That part of the map showing 'Ashford Carbonell' still indicates where it
got soaked.